


Between the Lines

by Pent, suiraitei



Series: Between the Lines: Marching Band AU [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters: Ruby & Sapphire & Emerald | Pokemon Ruby Sapphire Emerald Versions, Pokemon Ranger
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Marching Band, Alternate Universe - Race Changes, Best Friends, Divorce, Family, Family Drama, Family Issues, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, High School, Illustrated, M/M, Marching Band, Multi, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Social Media, Team as Family, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4842437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pent/pseuds/Pent, https://archiveofourown.org/users/suiraitei/pseuds/suiraitei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his parents' sudden divorce, Steven transfers to Mauville Tech High School, where he tries to fit in with his new peers in the marching band.</p>
<p>Wallace struggles to maintain his friendships and new role as captain of the color guard in the face of a devastating life change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between the Lines

**Author's Note:**

> **The illustrations in this fic are best viewed off mobile!**
> 
> Characters from every main series Pokémon generation (as well as Pokémon Ranger) appear in this AU, but it mainly focuses on Hoenn characters.
> 
> Although we both are strong believers in Hoenn being PokéJapan, this AU is set in California in 2014 and the characters have been adjusted to make this setting plausible. Most characters' ethnicities have been changed. Since this is a high school AU, ages have also been adjusted.
> 
>  
> 
> **Glossary**  
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
> More terms will be added to relevant chapters as the story progresses.
> 
> **Color guard** — also known as flag spinning. The color guard performs with the band with the synchronized work of flags, sabers, rifles, and dancing. It is common for the color guard to switch props throughout a performance. Indoor color guard independent of the marching band is called **winter guard**.
> 
> **Percussion** — drum and mallet instruments. Marching percussion (snare drums, bass drums, tenor drums, and sometimes cymbals) is referred to as the **drumline** or **battery** , while less mobile percussion instruments (marimba, vibraphone, bells, xylophone, ect.) played on the sidelines are referred to as the **pit**.

On the rare occasion that it rained, the aggressive pattering against the roof enunciated the mute desolation of Juan's big, vacant house. When Wallace stomped up the old staircase to the second floor, it creaked loud enough to drown out the downpour outside.

Wallace didn’t slam his bedroom door—he never did, even when he was upset. He slipped into his room and closed the door gently behind him, burying his face in his hands once inside. A deep sob that had been choking him since the middle of his fight with Juan escaped his throat.

Deep breaths, deep breaths. Wallace’s limbs gave out. He slid down the back of the door, trying to calm himself by hugging his knees to his chest and bunching the sleeves of his sweater over his palms to wipe his eyes.

Downstairs, Juan was upset and it was all his fault. Wallace held his throbbing head in his hands and gritted his teeth. He stared past his knees at the floor, unable to rid his mind of Juan’s hurt expression.

The silence of his room soon became suffocating. Wallace pulled himself up and collapsed onto his bed, but the foreign squeaks of his new mattress only anguished him further. He squeezed his eyes shut and rolled onto his side, curling into a ball and hugging his blanket to his chest for what seemed like hours.

Sniffling, restless, Wallace sat up and dragged his laptop from the edge of his desk onto his bed. He stared at the painting propped up against his dresser before averting his eyes and opening his laptop with quivering hands.

Deep, calm breaths allowed Wallace to tame his emotions enough to log into Facedex for the first time in months. With another glance at the painting, Wallace began typing a status update.

Hello, friends, he wrote. Wallace hesitated, taking another slow breath to compose himself before continuing to fill the room with the sounds of his keyboard. I would like to give my deepest apologies for my absence from band camp this summer and to anyone I may have worried...

Ignoring his father, Steven stared out of the shaded car window, only half-focusing on the bleak, middle-of-nowhere California scenery rushing by. He sat so uncomfortably close to the door that his face nearly touched the window. Joseph caught a glimpse of him in the rear-view mirror.

“What’s the matter, Steven?” Joseph twisted around from the passenger seat to face his son. “Are you nervous about band camp?”

“Yeah,” said Steven, not breaking his gaze from the window. It wasn’t a complete lie. Every other student at Mauville Tech was riding the bus to band camp, and Steven already stood out because he was new and missed percussion camp. Showing up in a car—his father’s purple Lamborghini, no less—only made things worse.

But most of all, Steven was frustrated that _this_ was the promised father-son time he had been looking forward to for weeks. Steven glanced at the driver and his father’s bodyguard beside him, angry with himself for getting his hopes up imagining a scenario in which it was just him and his dad alone in the car together: Joseph driving, and him in the passenger seat.

With the way things were now, Steven wondered why his father even bothered. He was present, but present wasn’t what Steven wanted—he needed to spend time with his dad. Steven looked out the window again, this time glaring at his reflection. 

“It’ll be alright, Steven,” Joseph said. “You’ll make friends in no time. Remember to be assertive.”

An awkward pause. Steven drummed his fingers wildly against his leg.

Still, Joseph managed to find something else to say. “This band is smaller than the one at Rustboro. Your talent is really going to show, son.”

“Dad, why couldn’t I ride the bus with the other kids?” Steven asked, unable to hold the question back any longer.

Joseph frowned. “Now, Steven… we already talked about this at home. Remember?”

The silence that followed made Steven want to crawl out of his skin. He cracked his window open and fixed his gaze outside. The sound of the wind lapping into the car relieved some of the awkwardness from the situation, but didn’t solve anything.

“Steven, I just want to always be sure that you’re safe.”

Joseph made several more attempts at conversation during the rest of the ride to band camp, but the four mostly sat in excruciating silence.

Steven was the first to get out when they reached their destination, barely waiting for the car to come to a complete stop before unbuckling his seat belt and throwing himself outside. The air was still damp from the rainstorm that morning—Steven imagined the feeling of marching on a squishy field and felt his excitement for the day dwindle.

There were only a few kids left outside, and the bus was nowhere to be seen. Nervous that he was late for orientation, Steven looked down at his watch as he retrieved his gym bag from the trunk.

“You be good now, Steven. Have fun and stay safe,” said Joseph, stepping outside and closing the car door behind him. Steven leaned out of the kiss his dad planted on his forehead. “Your mother is picking you up on Wednesday evening and you’re going to stay at her house until the end of the weekend. Okay?”

“I know. Bye dad,” Steven said, attempting to mask the disappointment in his voice. He gave his father a short hug.

With a smile, Joseph adjusted the strap of Steven’s bag and said, “Text me to check in or if you need anything, alright? I love you, Steven. See you next week.”

“Bye, dad,” Steven repeated. Joseph stepped back into his car, and moments later, the driver took off. Pursing his lips, Steven clutched the shoulder strap of his gym bag and began following the many ‘Welcome MTHS Orcas’ signs trailing up the hill towards what appeared to be the only building on the premises.

The combined scent of old building mildew and sunscreen overcame Steven when he slipped inside. To his relief, he hadn't missed anything. His new peers were clumped together in various groups around the main hall, catching up with each other before band camp officially began.

Before Steven had a chance to fully take in his surroundings, someone shouted, “Dude, Clyde!”

Overwhelmed by the busy atmosphere of the room, Steven didn’t realize that he was being addressed until the slim, muscular man who yelled stopped directly beside him. His sunglasses barely held back his wild mane of a hairdo from his face, and in his sprint, he had to press them against his forehead. “Where were you? I didn’t see you on the bus.”

Startled, Steven hesitated, too surprised to respond. The guy widened his eyes in alarm. “Woah! Sorry, man—you look exactly like this guy named Clyde. Well, not exactly. You’re like… a version of Clyde that transformed into a hella stud over the summer. And who’s actually on time. I knew there was something fishy about Clyde being on time…”

Steven laughed politely. The guy continued talking, speech so energetic and defined that Steven had a hard time following him. He spoke with a faint accent that Steven didn’t recognize, which certainly didn’t help. “Well, anyway, you look a little lost. Are you a freshman?”

“I’m a junior. I just transfered to this school.”

“A junior?! Me, too. My name’s Brawly.”

Steven returned his bright smile, albeit with more force. “I’m Steven. It’s nice to meet you.”

“What section are you in, Steven? I’ll help you find your people,” Brawly said after giving Steven a constricting handshake.

“Thanks. I’m in percussion.”

“Percussion!” Brawly cried, running his hands through his hair and garnering a few stares from the students around them. “Steven… you’re with me, man. Our section’s dwindling, dude—a bunch of seniors graduated last year and we got a new percussion instructor this year. We gotta step up and take charge. What do you play, Steven?”

“Oh… tenor.”

“Sick.” Brawly high fived Steven so hard that the impact stung both of their hands. “I’m on snare. I heard there were a few new percussionists at rookie camp last week, so hopefully we won’t be too short this year.”

Steven nodded and looked around the room again. “I hope not.” And with genuine guilt, he said, “Sorry I missed percussion camp…”

“Huh? We didn’t even have a camp, dude.”

“Oh… really? What happened?”

“I dunno, man. Probably something with the new percussion instructor,” Brawly said with a shrug. “The administration is jacked up this year.”

Worried, Steven didn’t respond.

“It’ll be okay, man. I’m not about to let this stop me from having fun this season! Hey, I haven’t claimed a bed yet. Do you wanna come with me? Hopefully all the good spots aren’t taken. Let’s drop our stuff off.”  
  


* * *

  
It didn’t take long for the two to find the dorms, despite Brawly’s insistence on wandering around to find them rather than checking the schedule for directions. Regardless, there were signs posted everywhere, which eventually led them up the wide stairwell to a vast room filled with beds and small wardrobes.

“I call this one,” exclaimed Brawly, sprinting past other students to reach the far corner of the hall. He dived onto the bed, and the strained springs of the old mattress let out a tired, rusty squeak. He pointed to the nearest bed beside a large window. “Steven, take this one right here.”

Steven walked across the room and shrugged his gym bag onto the bed Brawly claimed for him. The matress springs groaned in a similar fashion under the weight. He glanced out the window at the people lining the field outside for practice later that day before sitting down. This bed was nothing like his big, cozy bed at his father’s estate, and Steven knew that he was going to have trouble falling asleep. 

Brawly sprawled out on his mattress and looked at the ceiling, oblivious to Steven’s dilemma. “I love band camp,” he started absently. “It’s gonna be so fun this year.”

“Yeah.”

Brawly rolled onto his stomach to face his new friend. “You’re gonna love it here at Mauville Tech, Steven.”

Steven smiled. “Thanks. I hope so.”

“It’s a really great school. You know, my family moved here all the way from Hawaii before I started high school—”

Brawly’s story came to an abrupt halt at someone’s loud call of, “What up, B?”

“Dude, it’s Clyde…” said Brawly. “Actual Clyde.”

As Clyde approached them with heavy steps, Steven understood how Brawly had misidentified him earlier. Clyde resembled Steven if one were to squint in the right light—but the seemingly permanent scowl on his face and the darkness in his eyes set the two apart from each other.

“Hey Clyde,” said Brawly. “We got a new tenor player; this is Steven. Where were you, anyway? I didn’t see you on the bus.”

Clyde took a short glance at Steven, his expression unchanged. “Oh, you know. I was just doing some important administrative stuff with my dad since our new instructor is wicked late and I’m percussion captain now.”

“What!?” Brawly leapt from his bed. “There’s no _way_ you’re captain. Are you serious? What the hell, man?”

“Damn skippy,” said Clyde with a self-righteous smirk. He threw his things down onto a vacant bed not too far from Steven and Brawly before boasting, “Dad made me and the rest of my sibs captains this year—he’s the band director so his decision is final. Now you’ve got to do whatever I say no matter what.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Brawly. He crossed his arms tight across his chest.

“Yo, I’m not screwing around.” Clyde’s face began to redden in frustration. “It’s right in the welcome letter—I can report you for not reading that, y’know.”

“No, you can’t.” Brawly launched his pillow at Clyde, who barely dodged it in time. 

Confused by the entire situation, Steven rummaged through his pockets and began uncrumpling his welcome letter. He stretched over to set it on Brawly’s bed.

“Thanks, Steven,” Brawly muttered, trailing back to read it after retrieving his pillow. Brawly tore to the back page and skimmed through the last part of the letter:

> Let’s all make this an excellent year. Remember, the more effort you put in, the more you will get out of this season.
> 
> Gordor Ranger, Head of MTHS Band Program  
>  Glacia Caldwell-Yukimura, Percussion Instructor  
>  Archie Kaimana, Color Guard Instructor
> 
> 2014-15 Captains:
> 
> Drum Majors: Skyla Choi, Riley Ferreira, Grant Rochefort  
>  Woodwind: Tiffany Ranger  
>  Brass: Billy Ranger  
>  Low Brass: Garrett Ranger  
>  Percussion: Clyde Ranger  
>  Color Guard: Wallace Yamamoto

“There’s gotta be a rule against this or something. This isn’t fair at all. Some of us actually work hard,” Brawly said, tossing the letter onto Steven’s bed.

“Guess the old man saw potential in me and my sibs. We’re just that awesome.” Clyde shrugged. And with another smirk, he said, “Well, I’ve gotta scram. There’s still important captain stuff I have to do before today’s practice. Clyde out.”

Brawly slumped onto his bed and crossed his arms. He waited until Clyde was out of earshot before saying, “I can’t believe Mr. Ranger gave all the captain roles to his own kids. It’s not fair! You didn’t hear it from me, dude, but the Ranger kids are nasty. Like slimy pieces of seaweed that get stuck on your foot after catching a sick wave.”

Steven solemnly nodded, unsure of what to think. He certainly did not want to go off and make enemies on his first day of band camp at his new school.

“Well, at least we’re not in brass, dude—Billy’s got a serious problem with me because I always beat him in gym class. What he needs is a good knuckle sandwich,” said Brawly, swiftly punching the air in demonstration. Even while sitting, his form was near perfect. With a brighter tone, he changed the subject. “Steven, did you know that I’m going to get my first-degree taekwondo black belt soon? For real! I’ll show you some moves later. We’ll get ourselves pumped before practice.”

“Okay,” said Steven, unable to hold himself back from smiling at Brawly’s enthusiasm. Noticing that the room was clearing out, Steven scanned over the schedule on the welcome letter again before adding, “Hey… the schedule says we should be in the main hall soon. Should we go?”

“Woah, I lost track of time.” Brawly sprang up again. “Nice job, Steven. We better get going. Mr. Ranger will maim us if we’re a second late.”  
  


* * *

  
By the time Steven and Brawly rushed downstairs to the main hall, Gordor was already annoyed, drumming his fingers against the podium before him. He kept glancing down at his watch. The scowl on his face was so similar to Clyde’s that Steven wondered if crabbiness ran in the family.

Exactly five minutes before announcements were scheduled to start, Gordor began by clearing his throat. “Not all of you are here yet, but I’m going to start anyway. Welcome to Mauville Tech band camp. I would first like to emphasize that any form of tardiness is absolutely unacceptable. This applies to both students and faculty.”

“Don’t worry, Steven,” Brawly whispered. “Mr. Ranger’s the only bad part about this school. I mean, he’s definitely really bad, but it can’t all be perfect, right?”

Steven nodded, trying to pay attention to Gordor’s controlled rant on belligerent high schoolers, their lack of respect for their superiors, and their lack of awareness of time. His strong, Texas accent made him all the more intimidating. 

“I still can’t believe he assigned the captain roles to his own kids. Who does he think he is?” hissed Brawly.

“I’m sure it’ll be okay—“

As if something had snapped inside Gordor, he suddenly became furious. “...your bottom-half placement at states last year was appalling. Unacceptable. NOT. OKAY.”

The room grew uncomfortably silent. Even Brawly stopped talking.

“I refuse to be associated with a bunch of buffoons who think that it’s okay to settle for a lousy placement like that. Y’all should be ashamed of yourselves for doing so poorly. The only thing that should be on your mind is getting first place. During practice, y’all need to ask yourself after every single set, ‘was that a first place quality run?’ I don’t care that it’s not competition season yet. The only way that you hooligans will even stand a ghost of a chance is if you accept that mentality starting right now, and follow my instructions. Listen to an authority figure for once in your miserable lives. My job is to ingrain this within you, and your job is to win, no matter the cost…”

“I’m so hungry,” Brawly whimpered under his breath, unaffected by Gordor’s rant.

Looking at the schedule again, Steven said, “Don’t worry. It’s almost lunch time.”

Brawly groaned.

“...there will be severe, band-wide consequences for anyone caught slacking off. Y’all are here to do everything in your power to win. I’m going to be stricter than ever in setting you on the right path to do so…”

Nudging Steven with his elbow, Brawly whispered, “Hey, Steven. Look over there. Is there something weird going on with the color guard, or is it just me?”

Across the room, the color guard was being lectured by their coach in a similar fashion. The color guard coach, an intimidating man—even from such a distance—was talking to his pupils as equals, unlike Gordor. “I dunno. Seems normal to me,” said Steven.

Unsatisfied, Brawly continued to watch them, not hearing a word of Gordor’s introductory threats. “Mr. Kaimana is the color guard coach and he’s usually way louder. Also, I don’t see Wallace over there. He’s the captain. Something’s definitely up. Do you think this is some sort of secret meeting?”

“Maybe…” Steven couldn’t help but shift his focus to the color guard with Brawly, who stared at them with all the capacity of his attention. 

“Wallace is probably helping set something up with his parents—they basically run the band. I’ll point them out to you later,” said Brawly. He narrowed his eyes in concentration. “I’ve got inside intel on the guard—my friend Roxanne will let us in on their secrets for sure. Pretty gnarly, huh? You wanna ask her what’s up after Mr. Ranger stops yapping?”

Unable to think of anything better to do, Steven nodded.

“Cool. I’ll introduce you to Roxanne, too.” Brawly’s face flushed. “She’s really something…”

“...We will meet outside on the field in exactly twenty eight minutes for some icebreaker games. Lunch will be in the cafeteria in this building,” said Gordor, finally cooling down from his outburst. His expression remained strained. “I expect y’all to be on time. Like I said before, there will be severe consequences for slacking off. Slacking off includes being late.”

As if annoyed by his own presence, Gordor snatched his binder off the podium and bee-lined for the door, not leaving any room for questions, which undoubtedly would have resulted in many complaints involving his questionable choice of captains. 

“Lunch...” Brawly moaned, an air of pain in his voice. He was still focused on the small gathering of color guard members. From the looks of it, their meeting had concluded as well. “Steven, let’s go.”

And Brawly was off, walking at a much faster pace than Steven.

“Roxanne!” Brawly called, waving excitedly. “Hey Roxanne!”

A girl with an elegant, long ponytail looked up from her phone. “Hello, Brawly,” she said with a tight smile.

“Roxanne, this is Steven. He’s new. And Steven, this is Roxanne. The best member of the color guard!”

“Brawly! That’s hardly—” Roxanne’s face flushed. She cut herself off upon giving Steven a closer look. “Hey. Didn’t you used to go to Rustboro Academy?”

“Yeah… I transferred this year,” said Steven.

“Steven Stone, right?”

He nodded, unable to keep eye contact with her.

“Great to see you, Steven! Welcome to Mauville Tech.” Roxanne gave Steven a stiff handshake. “Sorry, you probably don’t recognize me. I was a year under you when I went there.”

Unable to contain himself any longer, Brawly burst, “Whaaat?? You two already know each other?!”

“Why is that so surprising, Brawly? Lots of students went to Rustboro for middle school.”

“Yeah, but…” With a sour expression, Brawly decided to change the subject. “Hey Roxanne, something seemed off about your guard meeting. Like, Mr. Kaimana wasn’t screaming at you guys the entire time. And where did Wallace run off to?”

“Very observant, Brawly,” said Roxanne. She frowned. “Well… that’s what Mr. Kaimana was discussing with us. Wallace isn’t going to be at band camp this year… Mr. Kaimana wouldn’t tell us why, but he said that Wallace is still going to be captain when he returns. Winona’s going to temporarily take over for him.”

“Huh? He’s just not here at all? That’s weird. You’d think that’d make Mr. Kaimana even more upset than usual… Hey, come to think of it, Wallace was gone for most of swim tryouts earlier this summer, too. Seems unlike him to miss things like this.”

“Seriously? I’m really worried…” Roxanne admitted, looking down at her phone again.

Brawly peered over her shoulder. “Did you text him?”

“No. He’s probably just busy with other obligations and I don’t want to bother him. He never updates his Chatter or Facedex, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to check them.”

“Good plan,” said Brawly. While Roxanne dug through her phone again, Brawly gave Steven a sympathetic smile. “Hey Steven, don’t get the wrong impression about Mauville Tech; I swear, the captain situation wasn’t this chaotic last year… we have all new captains this year. I’m sure there’ll be an uprising or something about the Ranger kids—uh, maybe not now that I think about it. Mr. Ranger’s terrifying when he loses his temper, and he loses his temper a lot…”

“It was a little hectic at Rustboro, too…” said Steven, focus drifting away from the conversation in favor of the inescapable air of tension between guard members around him.

“I bet you were a section leader at your old school,” said Brawly after studying Steven for a few moments. “Am I right?”

“Oh,” said Steven, feeling his cheeks burn. “No…”

Before Steven could continue, Roxanne let out a sharp gasp and cupped her free hand over her mouth, looking at her phone in disbelief.

“Woah, Roxanne? What’s up? You okay?” As if she hadn’t heard Brawly, Roxanne continued to stare at her phone for a few moments, thumbing up and then down before quickly typing a message. She then handed it to Brawly without a word.

  


_[IMAGE TRANSCRIPT]_

**Facedex status update**  
Wallace Yamamoto  
_2 hours ago_

* * *

 

Hello, friends.

I would like to give my deepest apologies for my absence from band camp this summer and to anyone I may have worried. I am not quitting color guard, nor will I be stepping down as captain.

It is with great sadness that I inform my friends of the deaths of my dear mother and father, Mao and Hideki Yamamoto, both of whom passed away early this summer. My own injuries from the accident left me unable to oversee the remainder of swimming tryouts in June. I have been adjusting to a new home and pray that you all understand my absence from band camp.

I hope that you all have had an excellent summer. I'm looking forward to seeing how those of you in the color guard have improved.

失礼しました｡

<3 - Wallace

**Facedex comments**

* * *

  
Winona Dove • _38 minutes ago_  
We're all here for you Wallace  <3 Stay strong.

Roxanne Belmonte • _Just now_  
oh my god Wallace!! :( I'm so sorry for your loss. Are you okay???

_[END TRANSCRIPT]_

**Author's Note:**

> For sneak peeks, high res art, progress updates, and tons of extras, check out our blog: [marchnado.tumblr.com](http://marchnado.tumblr.com)
> 
> Due to the amount of work that goes into each chapter, updates will be irregular. Feel free to subscribe to the story on AO3 or follow our Tumblr blog.
> 
> We hope you'll enjoy this AU as much as we do!


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